Raising Clark
by Rea
Summary: A Chronical of the trials and troubles of raising an alien child from after the meteor strick to before the Smallville picks up.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Don't own Smallville, but man, if I did I would totally be seeing the money signs.  
  
Author's Note: Well, this is my first Smallville fic...and I'm hoping more will follow. This one deals with Jonathan and Martha, after they find Clark. Hopefully later chapters when Clark is older (around 7 or so) will appear, so I can get a bit of Clark POV in there too. Enjoy!  
  
Raising Clark  
  
After Lionel Luther had left, Jonathan brought in the newly aquired adoption papers and set them on the kitchen counter and looked over at Martha, who was busy forcing Clark into various outfits she had just bought him. "Well," he said. "You won. We get to keep him." Finally deciding all the clothes fit him fine, Martha smiled at Jonathan and went to look at the papers. She scrutinized them in a way only a lawyer's daughter could and then said, "That's it? He just printed them out like that?"  
"Yeah, basically." He sighed resignedly. One way or another, he'd have to say it. "There's a catch though: I have to convince the Rosses to sell their faactory."   
Martha looked at him sharply. "What do you mean 'convince' them to sell?" she asked carefully.   
"I mean if I don't, a certain government agency might find out that the adoption isn't legal and may take him away." They both looked over at Clark as he played with one of Jonathan's old toy trucks. "We can't let that happen to him," Martha said decively and Jonathan knew she was right. "I'll talk to the Rosses."  
  
*****  
Jonathan felt like he had never done anything so low in his life when he talked to the Ross patriarch about the factory. He knew that if someone had tried to get him to sell the farm his answer would be a variation of "Hell no" and then he would escort that person off his property. Preferably at gunpoint, if Martha would allow it. But when he came home at the end of the day and saw Martha cooking dinner with Clark "helping", he couldn't help but think if it not was worth it.  
"Clark spent the whole day following me around," Martha informed him as they sat down to eat. "Yeah? Did he learn anything?"  
"Who knows?" Martha took Clark's plate and put some chicken, vegetables and mashed potatoes on it and cut them into small pieces so that Clark could easily stab them with his fork, an achievement he was most proud of and did with a great flourish every meal time. Cereal was almost a disappointment to him. It couldn't be stabbed, though Clark quickly realized it could be squished quite nicely once it was mushy enough.   
Neither Jonathan nor Martha could quite believe their luck, going from hopelessly childless to having an energetic three-year-old running around the house. At least, that's how old they decided he was. Jonathan Kent had never actually realized how random age was on Earth, being determined by the time it took the earth to go around the sun once. This was, unfortunately, one of the smaller puzzles Clark brought with him.  
Once Clark was put to bed, Martha sat next to her husband, a slightly concerned expression on her face. "What's wrong?" he asked.  
"It's Clark. Jonathan, he doesn't say a word. Not even a single sound, for that matter. He just stands around silently," she looked at Jonathan helplessly.  
"Well...maybe he spoke a different language back home." 'Back home'...back on whatever planet that kid came from was the unspoken meaning.  
"I know and that's the point. He never makes a single sound. Even where he's from they must havehad some language, some words to use to communicate."  
"I know what you mean, Martha. It's not normal for him to be so quiet but I have a feeling a lot of things involving Clark are goiong to be 'not normal'".   
"So we should just give him some time and hope it sorts itself out?" Martha guessed.  
"Yeah, that's exactly what I was going to suggest," Jonathan responded, pulling her into his arms. "He could just be shy, that's all..."  
*****  
Jonatahn was startled awake in the middle of the night by noises outside his door in the hallway. Glancing at the clock, he saw it was only 1am and he pulled himself wearily out of bed. A quick look up and down the hallway told him nothing, so Jonathan went downstairs to investigate. There, sitting in the middle of the family room floor, was Clark. The little boy stared intently at Jonathan as he walked in and Jonathan couldn't help but laugh at the way the boy looked. "We're going to have to get you a haircut here pretty soon, Clark, or you'll end up rivaling most 70s disco singers when it comes to an afro." He ruggeled the boy's large amount of hair thoughtfully and looked down at Clark to see that he was still staring at him. "What's wrong?" Jonathan asked. The look on his face could only be described as lost and it suddenly occured to Jonathan how shocking it had to be for Clark to be here. He knew if he had suddenly woken up on another planet, or even another country, he would feel completely lost and he was a grown man. Clark was only a little kid.  
He crouched down on his haunches in front of Clark and looked at hime with the same intensity as the child. "Don't worry, you'll be okay...it's just hard at the beginning. Heck, it's hard for us too. We've never had a kid running around the house before...well, I mean since it's been Martha's and mine. Martha, your mother I mean, is beside herself with joy." He grinned at the kid and kept talking. "See, as long as ympfwk--" he never got a chance to finish that sentence because at that moment, Clark shoved his hand into Jonathan's mouth. 'What the...' Jonathan thought and pulled Clark's hand out of his mouth and Clark, undeterred, tried to shove it back in. "What are you doing?" Jonathan asked annoyed. That's when he looked at the boy's face and saw he was moving his mouth around awkwardly, trying to imitate Jonathan in a way that implied he wasn't sure it was going to work at all. 'He's trying to talk,' Jonathan realized. 'Hasn't he ever talked before?' Reflexively, Jonathan took the boy's hand and placed it lightly on his lips. "Here, this will work better than putting your entire fist in my mouth," he spoke clearly, letting Clark feel every movement of his mouth and the puffs of air that come with it. Clark's mouth moved with increased intensity, but no sound came out and Jonathan decided to start with something a bit simpler. He took Clark's hand in his and pointed at Clark's chest. "Clark," he said firmly. "Clark. You are Clark." 'We'll work on the last name later, ' he added silently to himself.   
"Clrg," Clark gurggled out of his mouth, watching Jonathan's lips.  
Jonathan nodded encouragingly. "Clark. That's you."  
"Clarg!" The boy said with more clarity and Jonathan decided to leave it as close enough. It was late enough and he wanted to sleep but Clark wasn't ready to let up. He pointed at Jonathan and the question he was posing was clear: Who are you?  
Without thinking, Jonathan replied, "Daddy." This answer seemed to satisfy Clark and he said, "Dadu," in happy imitation. Jonathan couldn't help but smile broadly and wondered what Martha would think if she saw him sitting there with such a stupid grin on his face. "Come on, Clark. While I'd love to spend the whole night teaching you how to talk,some o us have a farm to run." He stood up and picked up Clark and took him upstairs to his room.  
Carefully, he tucked Clark in his bed and turned to leave only to find Clark holding his hand tightly in his surprisingy strong grip. "Hey, let go. I want to sleep too, kiddo." But Clark didn't let go and Jonathan was surprised to see the same look of fear and uncertainty on his face. Simple fear...  
"You want me to stay?" he asked. Clark didn't let go. "Okay, I'll stay." He pulled the chair up next to Clark's bed and sat down on it. Clark seemed satisfied, but didn't let go and Jonathan resigned himself to spending the rest of the night in his room. Eventually, Clark closed his eyes and Jonathan continued to watch him, thousands of questions spinning around him.  
Martha and he were insane to think they could do this, he thought. How could they? What was expected of them? How would they tell what was normal for Clark when there simply wasn't a known benchmark for his kind? Despite his looks, Jonathan forced himself to remember that Clark wasn't human.  
And yet, looking at him, Jonathan couldn't help but be struck by the fact that even if Clark wasn't human, he was still a child like any other Jonathan had come across and, at that moment, sleeping as peacefully as he was, Clark looked just as vulnerable as any other child. He was found naked in a field for Christ's sake. No parents, no dog tags. What could he and Martha do? He sighed and looked at the sleeping child. So innocent...  
He wasn't alien; he was Jonathan's son. 


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note: Alright, chapter two...I adjusted the formatting a bit so it looks better and is easier to read. I wish I could get the word documents to look right but alas *sighs dramatically* And the story goes on...  
Raising Clark: Chapter 2  
The alarm clock buzzed at 4:30 in the morning as usual and Martha ground and rolled over, waiting or Jonathan to get up, turn it off and start getting ready for the day before waking her up. Only, this time, Jonathan didn't turn the alarm off. "Jonathan," she muttered, sitting up awkwardly. But the other side of the bed was empty. Sighing, she leaned across the bed and turned off the alarm and then lay there listlessly stretched out across the bed for a moment. That was the worst thing about farm work: the whole getting up when the rooster crowed. Actually, now that it was fall, it was more like getting up before the rooster but no matter. "Better go find him," Martha mumbled and lazily pulled herself out of bed and headed out into the hall.  
See the door to Clark's room ajar, she paused and looked in. There, sitting by the bed, his hand in Clark's, was Jonathan. Smiling, she walked up to him and wrapped her arms around him from behind, kissing him on the cheek. Startled, he jumped awake. "Whu?"  
"Good morning," she said playfully.  
"Oh, yeah," Jonathan said, rubbing his face. "What time is it?"  
"A little past four-thirty. You didn't turn the alarm off, so I had to get up."  
"Poor you."  
"I know. So what brough you here?"  
"Oh, Clark woke me up last night when he went downstairs and he wouldn't let me leave when I put him back to bed." He looked away from Clark and looked at his wife. "Martha, he's learning how to talk."  
"What, just now?"  
"Yeah, he started watching my lips last night. Like the thought of moving them to talk had never actually occured to him."  
Martha gazed down at Clark. "What can he say?"  
"Well, so far 'Clark' and 'Daddy'."  
Martha laughed. "Couldn't help it could you?"  
"If I'd told him my name was Jonathan, he would have called me that. Besides, we have the papers. He's officially our adopted son."  
"I know, I know. So were you planning on taking your son out with you and working on the farm anytime today or were you just going to let him hang around the house everyday?"  
"Hmm...actually, hanging around the house doesn't sound like a bad..." he changed vains at Martha's facial expression. "Alright, alright, I'll go outside and I'll take little guy here with me when he wakes up."  
  
****  
After he had eaten, Martha promptly sent Clark out to the barn where Jonathan was. He'd already gained about 20 more words and, from Martha's looks, it was easier for him than for the parent: the entire day, his appetite for new words was insatiable. He knew who Mommy and Daddy were and quickly picked up on the fact that to each other, they were "Martha" and "Jonathan", that sometimes he was called simply, "son" or "kid", and didn't seem to mind. But what did bother him was seeing all the cows. When Jonathan took Clark to the pasture where the cows grazed, Clark pointed eagerly at the nearest cow and Jonathan told him, "That's a cow, Clark."  
"Cow," Clark repeated and with confidence, he moved onto the next cow and pointed at it.  
"Cow." Jonathan repeated. This time there was a note of hesitation in Clark's voice. "Cow?" He looked puzzled and his confusion became full.fledged when Jonathan again told him that even a cow that looked completly different from the other two was still called a cow. "Yes, that's a cow, Clark. Apart from a few bulls, they're all cows. Together we call them cattle." Jonathan emphasized the last word and knew he should have realized this explanation would be too much: Clark stared at him blankly. "Okay, fine, let's try it this way: one cow," Jonathan said, pointing at the first one. Then, pointing at the second one and the first one, he said, "Two cows." Clark seemed to understand the concept of plurals so Jonathan decided to make the quantum leap: he gestured broadly at the entire herd: "Cattle," he said.  
Clark stared at the unknown quantity before him. Had this been math class, Clark would have been expected to go from simple counting to the concept of infinity in a matter of a few seconds. But, he simply pointed calmly at the first cow and said, "Cow," pointed at two of them and said, "Cows," then pointed at them all and said, "Cattle."  
The concept, afterall, was not an entirely new one to Clark. It was only the words that seemed to be different, Jonathan realized and decided that that was enough vocabulary for the moment.  
But once Clark started learning words, it was as if a dam had broken and the Kents were left trying to swim in it. His disappointment about the cows was only amplified when he found out that all things with four wheels and a motor were cars, but Jonathan quickly found a solution to this: bedtime stories became the latest books on car models and Clark began to learn how to identify nearly every model of car and truck.  
  
"I think we should wait a while before letting Clark go to school," Martha told Jonathan one evening after they'd put Clark to bed.  
"Well, of course, he's only, what, around three? Most kids don't start kindergarten 'til they're five at least."  
"No, I mean later than that. His speech still needs a lot of work."  
"Come on, Martha, he's picking up words faster than most, well, normal kids do."   
"Yes, he'll be the only one in pre-school who can tell the difference between a chevy cavalier and a Honda civic," Martha responded dryly.  
Jonathan smiled proudly. "Gifted little kid, isn't he?"  
Martha just shook her head and let the conversation drop. 


	3. Chapter 3

Author's note: And now for a really really long one that will later be followed by a really really short one (that's how it works, folks.) And thanks guys for the kind reviews :).  
  
The next day found Jonathan and Clark in the barn again and Jonathan was attempting to show Clark exactly how one uses complicated machinery to milk a cow.  
"Now, Clark, you just take this nozzle here and screw it onto the big container over there, then attach the suction cups--" he paused. Clark, who by that time would have been jabbering away about something, was silent and Jonathan looked behind him and learned why: Clark was nowhere to be seen. Jonathan ran out of the barn just in time to catch the sight of a small foot disappering into one of the old tiller that had once belonged to his grandfather. Its wheels had long sunk into the ground and tangled in weeds and the back of it was against the barn, meaning whoever went in one way wasn't coming out the other.  
"Oh shit." Jonathan took off running towards it, dove down onto the ground and stuck a hand inside o it, hoping to catch Clark's leg or something but the kid had already moved too far inside to be reached. "Clark!" He peered into the hole and could dimly see Clark huddled in the back of it." Just...just stay there!" Jonathan yelled, getting up onto his feet. He rushed towards the barn as Martha stepped out of the house with a confused look onto her face. "Martha, Clark's crawled underneath the old tiller." She didn't need to hear another word and followed him into the barn. "We'll need some rope, some flashlights," Jonathan said, snatching up the objects.  
The two of them arrived at the tiller again and Jonathan shined the flashlight into it, right onto Clark's face. The kind must have realized something was wrong because now he had a scared look on his face. Jonathan threw the rope down the tunnel and called. "Clark! Just grab the rope and I'll pull you out...come on, just grab the rope."  
But Clark didn't grab the rope. Nor did he just sit there. Instead, he stood up and, pressing his hands against the ceiling, lifted up the entire tiller. Jonathan who had been bracing himself against the thing while trying to get Clark out of there, fell over in surprise and lay there on the ground in front of Martha looking at the small three-year-old figure holding up a 700 pound tiller as though it was made of paper mache. Martha and Jonathan looked at each other in surprise.  
  
****  
"What do you intend to do, Jonathan?" Martha quietly asked him when they were back in the house. They had convinced Clark to lie down for a bit and were in the kitchen discussing what they had just witnessed.  
Jonathan hesitated for a moment before answering. "I don't know Martha, having never met a 3 year-old capable of lifting 700 lbs, I'm a little inexperienced in this area. But I do think we need to find someone who is or would at least tell us how to handle it."  
"You mean a doctor, don't you?" Jonathan winced at how cold and controlled Martha's voice was as she spoke. Once again, Jonathan found himself not wanting to respond, but he did anyway. "We could take him to Dr. McPherson. He's reliable and has doctored nearly everyone in Smallville at one point or another."  
"Great...that means that if we take Clark there, in a couple of weeks everyone would know Clark's 'unusual circumstances'". Martha looked at her husband skeptically.  
"Okay, fine. We'll take him to Metropolis. You have to know some good, trustworthy doctors there who can give us some advice."  
Martha was silent for a moment, then said. "Okay."  
  
****  
The three of them sat in the cab of the truck, Jonathan at the wheel and Martha on the passengers side with Clark on her lap. The two adults were silent but Clark was busy babbling away, proud of his newly aquired speaking skills. "Look, Daddy, a Ford Coup," he would cry out. Then, "look, Mommy, a Honda Accord."  
When they reached Metropolis, the poor kid's eyes nearly popped out of his head: never before had he encountered such tall buildings and so many CARS. His mouth fell open in surprise and the questions started pouring out. "Daddy, what's that?" "Look, what's that car?" "Look at that!" Jonathan glanced quickly at Martha out of the corner of his eyes and nted the closed, pained look she had on her face and didn't look back. She was gripping Clark tightly.  
As they neared the clinic Martha had recommended Jonathan began to feel a little more squeezed and wished the kid would shut up. His barrage of chatter was making an already difficult task darn near impossible. He moved to turn into the parking lot but Martha suddenly burst out, "Keep driving, Jonathan!" And, instinctively, he kept driving down the street.  
On their way home, neither one spoke a word and even Clark shut up; exhausted, he had fallen asleep on Martha's chest. When they arrived back home, Clark was quickly laid down in his bed then Jonathan went into the kitchen where Martha had just put the tea kettle on. He didn't say anything but they both knew what the silence meant: why?  
"I couldn't do it, Jonathan," Martha finally said. "I couldn't deliver him to a doctor like some sort of a sacrifice, where they'd poke him and experiment on him. And, yes that is what they'd do!" Martha continued, effectively cutting off anything Jonathan could have squeezed in there. "What doctor or scientist wouldn't? Proof of life on other planets with superhuman strength. They'd be like kids in a candy shop."  
"I know, Martha," Jonathan said softly, taking her into her arms as she started to cry."I don't want that happening to him any more than you do, but you have to realize raising Clark isn't going to be easy."  
"I know," she said, pulling away from him a bit and wiping the tears away. "I'm not expecting it to be but somebody has to do it and I'd rather it be us than...God knows who!"  
"Nice to know you have a lot of faith in our untested parenting skills," Jonathan said smiling at her as she poured herself a cup of tea. This is what Martha had wanted more than anything but "we've drawn the wild card, Martha. Most parents worry if their child is 'normal', just look at the Rosses, but we're going to be wondering if he's properly abnormal enough according to his kind and how we're going to conceal that from our neighbors."  
"Well, if farming ever bored you, at least you have a new hobby now: how to raise a normally weird child." She smiled through her tears.  
"Ha, ha. I'll just go burn my mother's copies of Dr. Spock right now, okay?"  
"Fine with me."  
Jonathan started to leave but stopped as something occured to him. "Martha, if we're going to do this, raise Clark like he really is one of us, then we need to set down some rules." He sat down at the table, facing Martha. "First off, we can't let ourselves constantly think about how he isn't human. That's not going to help anything and he may pick up on it."  
"Agreed."  
"And what do we tell him? How much, I mean. That he's adopted and from another planet?"  
Martha was silent for a second. "Let's just tell him he's adopted--everyone in town knows that anyway. But I think the other part can wait til he's older."  
"Til he starts to ask questions himself, right?"  
"Yeah. Jonathan, if we want to keep him and raise him as normally as possible, we have to keep this a secret as long as possible. From the town, from our friends," she paused. "Even from our families."  
Jonathan looked at Martha sharply. "Your father, too?"  
She nodded. "He's a lawyer, Jonathan. He knows we couldn't have children. He also knows how long the adoption process takes. If we just parade in with Clark--"  
"Who then proceeds to life your father's car over his head--"  
"It's not going to be pretty."  
"And it wouldn't help if Clark himself ran around telling everyone he as from outer space and his parents found him in a field wearing nothing but his birthday suit."  
"No, not at all. I'm not sure how much people would write off to an over active imagination."  
"Okay, so secondly: Clark's secret and keeping it that way is our number one priority."  
"Even the farm?" Martha asked cautiously.  
Jonathan visably hesitated, then finally said, "Yes, even the farm."  
Martha nodded and then continued. "And what about school?", reminding him of the conversation they had had not long before.  
"Let's wait and see on that one...it's pretty much on the same line as your father: what if he does something he shouldn't?"  
Martha nodded. "I mean, I want him to have as normal an upbringing as possilble, but if we kept him home and home-schooled him until we feel he's ready for school, it wouldn't harm much..."  
"I think someone's having trouble letting go..." Jonathan teased.  
Martha smiled. "I always did with people I loved."  
He smiled back at her. "I know and lucky for me that you did, too."  
"You know it. So what about his spaceship?"  
"Well, I dumped it in the cellar that day, I suppose we could just leave it there, maybe push it a bit further back and cover it or something in case we have to go down there. I've got some work to finish up in the barn right now, anyway, so I'll just take care of that while I'm out there." Martha nodded absently.  
After Jonathan left, Martha leaned back in her chair and fiddled with the mug in her hand, turning it around and around. What if it didn't turn out all right? That part of her asked. What if she was wrong? Did the two of them have enough patience to deal with a child who could lift ten times his own weight at least? She shivered and knew it wasn't because of the cool, evening air the autumn had brought.'No,' she thought. 'It doesn't matter where he was born or what is normal for him. I'm not going to treat him like a freak. I've waited or this opportunity ever since I married Jonathan and even though he never made a big deal about it, I know he wanted one, too. I'm not going to let anything change that.'  
Getting up, she dumped the rest of the tea, now cold, down the drain and went upstairs to check on Clark. 


	4. Chapter 4

Author's note: Okay, this one's short (and I mean SHORT) but I'm hoping in the sense of short but sweet...  
  
"NO!" Clark screamed at the top of his lungs. He glared at his parents firmly.  
"Clark, it's naptime. That means you go upstairs, lie down in your bed and go to sleep," Jonathan said to him firmly.  
"Don't wanna."  
Jonathan and Martha exchanged looks; they both knew what was coming. "Clark, either you go upstairs to your room right now or we will carry you up there."  
Clark didn't move.  
Jonathan started counting. "One."  
Clark continued to glare at them and crossed his arms stubbornly across his chest.  
"Two."  
Clark didn't move.  
"Three." Jonathan and Martha moved forward as one and each took an arm in their grip and dragged Clark kicking and screaming up the stairs. It took all their strength to do so and Jonathan winced as he heard some of the wooden stairs crack and break from the force of Clark's feet hitting them. They successfully threw him onto his bed and ran out of the room, shutting the door behind them. Martha looked at Jonathan and said, "Five seconds." He looked at her wearily.  
Sure enough, the silence in the other room lasted for about five seconds before it was interrupted by loud crashes and the sound of the door splintering. "Jonathan, he's kicking in the door!"  
"I know, Martha but what else can we do? He has to take a nap!"  
"Well, either we compromise now or you get to replace a door along with the stairs!"  
Jonathan knew she was right and this point was further brought home to him as the door began to visibly splinter. "Alright." He opened the door. Clark was lying there on the floor, his feet poised in the air and ready to strike another blow.  
"Clark!" Clark paused in mid-air, his feet half-extended and looked at his parents. "Stop that! We know you don't want to take a nap but that's not an option," Martha said, "but we will give you a choice: either you take one up here in bed or you take one downstairs on the couch. The choice is yours."  
Clark didn't take time to decide. "Couch!" he said firmly and they followed him downstairs, carefully avoiding the splinters stairs.  
Clark lay down peacefully on the couch but quickly threw off the blanket Martha laid on him as if to say, "I'll take your stupid nap but I don't have to take your blankets," and he peered over the armrests watching Jonathan repair the stairs.  
First, he took simple measurements then went out, then came back in with three fitting boards, which he carefully nailed down in place of the old ones. Then he went back out again for a longer period of time and came backwith three pieces of sheet metal, which he screwed down ontop of the boards and then replaced the carpeting.  
"Well, that should do it," Jonathan reported to Martha. "I repaired and reinforced the broken stairs and Clark's door with sheets of steel."  
"Steel?" Do you really think that's necessary?"  
"What, do you know of something stronger?"  
Martha shook her head by way of a reply and looked in the direction of Clark, now sleeping on the couch. She swallowed. "I was just thinking...maybe you could reinforce the rest of the stairs while you're at it."  
Jonathan grinned. "Sure. All in a day's work." 


	5. Chapter 5

The first few months after Clark's arrival passed quickly enough and after that, it seemed as though he had always been with them. The months melted into years and soon, Clark was six, going on seven. For the last couple of years, Martha had simply homeschooled him, a relatively easy task comparing to others the years had brought. He grasped concepts easily but the problem of his pronunciation and speech remained: he just said certain things strangely. After listening to Clark practice his trouble words one night after dinner, Jonathan screwed up his face and said, "Good lord, Martha, we can't send him to school like that. People are going to think he's Canadian or something."  
"Well, for all they know he could be," Martha said with a non-commital shrug.  
"Dad, what's Canadian?" Clark asked.  
"Funny people who live in a strange, frozen country north of here where the people say 'about' like 'a boot' and 'been' 'bean'."  
Clark look disgusted and insulted. "I don't do that!"  
Jonathan laughed at Clark's indignation. "It's a very near thing, son."  
"In any case," Martha inturrupted loudly, "Clark will be going to school this year whether he sounds like a Canadian or not. It's high time."  
Clark fell silent and his parents knew it wasn't out of a silent, unexpressed joy at the affirmation of his future schooling. "Can I go to bed now?" he said suddenly and Martha nodded at him and Jonathan watch as his son ran carefully up the stairs.  
"I don't think he's exactly thrilled at this idea, Martha," he said as soon as they heard the door to Clark's room slam.  
"Well, what would you expect? Here he finished his lessons in about 4 hours everyday and had the rest of the time to do what he wanted. He'll be spending 8 hours everday in school, not to mention homework."  
"Yeah, I know...but I don't know if that's what's bothering him. He's gotten quiet ever since we brought it up."  
"Maybe I should go up and talk to him about it..." Martha said quietly.  
"Yeah, I think it'd be a good idea."  
  
Martha knocked on Clark's closed door and heard a "come in" and opened it to find Clark sitting on the floor in his pajamas playing with an old erector set that had once belonged to Jonathan. "Hey, I thought you said you were going to bed." He shrugged and she tried again. "You didn't look to thrilled when we mentioned school again today, Clark."  
"I don't want to go." His response was brief, as they were apt to be.  
"Why not? It'll be just like it is here at home, only Pete will be there too and you'll make other friends too."  
"I know. But I don't see why I can't just stay here. I LIKE learning out here and then I help out on the farm, too." He looked at his mother with a sudden gleam in his eyes. "I can help more on the farm. I can---."  
"Clark," Martha said, cutting him off. "It's not a matter of working more on the farm. It's a matter of what's best for you. We don't go into town much out here and you can't spend your whole life with Pete as your only contact to the outside world." She smiled at him encouragingly. "It's for the best."  
"What if I do something I shouldn't?" The change in the conversation was so abrupt it almost caught Martha off guard. Was that what he was really worried about, she wondered. That he would use his strength? They had delicately taught him over the past four years to control himself so that his grip on this was gentle and did not crush kittens or break plates. They had patiently watched his frustration with himself when he failed to do things properly time after time, resulting in a split beam or something. They had even managed to make him realize that, even though his ability was good for farm work, it may not be the best idea to show his friend Pete how he could lift up the truck. But it had never occured to Martha that he knew it doing so would be horribly wrong nor that Clark was afraid he would.  
"Clark, you have a good control over things and your father and I don't think it will be that much of an issue at school. You can write without breaking the pencil now, I've seen you." Clark smiled a bit about this. "I bet you'll even be smarter than most of the kids in the class. She straightened up and Clark stood up with her. "Come on, don't worry about it. Everything will be alright but now it's time for bed."   
A bit reluctantly, Clark lay down in his bed and Martha tucked him. "Good night, Clark."  
"G'night, mom."  
***************************************************************************  
After the door shut, Clark frowned to himself in the darkness. His strength had been his last gamble as a way to keep from going to school but it hadn't worked. Somehow he'd known it wouldn't but had tried anyway. He stared at the dark ceiling above him wondering if he should tell her the real reason. No, he thought. They'll laugh. They won't take me seriously. How could he make them realize that he was really very afraid that he would go to school one day and then when got home, they wouldn't be there? It ached just thinking about it. Clark turned over on his side, but it was just as uncomfortable as lying on his back. A feeling of lonliness so intense and so real crept over him so that it was all he could do not to run back downstairs where his parents were.   
He'd often had this feeling and when he was younger it brought him night after night to his parents room. He'd go up to their bed where they'd be rubbing the sleep out of their eyes and asking, "Clark, what's wrong?" in sleepy voices. "I couldn't sleep," he had alway said and they let him sleep in their bed until morning. After a while, Clark no longer went to their room, but camped outside on the hallway floor in front of it in a sleeping bag. The nightly coughs and creeps he could hear from there made him feel not quite so alone...  
Now that he was six, however, this had stopped. Clark knew he couldn't keep on camping outside his parents bedroom everytime he had a bad dream and the fact that he met Pete and Pete didn't do this made the issue even clearer to him. To a six year old, not being a baby is the most important thing on the mind and not wanting to look like a baby in the eyes of his peer played an even bigger role.  
His friend had had a hard enough time understanding why Clark didn't go to school and one part of Clark felt compelled to go to school and go through the same things as Pete did but the other (and much more vocal) part of him insisted that if he did leave, he would never come back. He would never see his mother and father again.  
Clark squeezed his eyes shut at the fear that filled his throat threatening to choke him at this thoat. He refused to open them and lay there paralysed until sleep finally claimed him.  
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"Clark, honestly, you have to concentrate," Martha said with a hint of frustration in her voice. "I have no idea where your mind is but if it doesn't come back to this table, I don't think you're going to have any opportunity to see Pete today."  
Clark sighed and stared and the schoolwork in front of him. "I don't want to do it," he said under his voice, but his mother heard anyway."It doesn't matter if you want to do it or not. Once you're in school you're going to have to finish up your work no matter what mood you're in."  
This ended it for Clark. "I don't care," he yelled. "I don't want to go to school, I don't want to leave--" he broke off, his voice strained impossibly.  
Martha finally inturrupted the silence that followed. "Clark, why is it you don't want to go to school? The reason you gave me last night wasn't the real one now was it?"  
Clark swallowed and shook his head--he didn't trust himself to speak. "Then what wasn't."  
"I'm--I'm," the words stuck in his throat. "I'm afraid that you won't be here when I come back. That I'll leave and when I come back you and dad won't be here." Ashamed, he kept his eyes lowered and didn't dare look at his mother. She would be laughing, he knew it...  
But Martha didn't laugh. Instead she took him in her arms. "Clark, don't worry. Your father and I aren't going to go anywhere for a very long time. We'll be here when you get on the bus in the morning and we'll be here when you come back in the afternoon. It'll be just like when one of us goes into town to pick up things--we always come back. Only this time it'll be you leaving and not us. But you'll still come back."  
Still, Clark's fears were not entirely assauged. "I don't want to be alone," he whispered.   
"Clark, you won't be alone. I promise you that. Everyday when you get on the bus, one of us will be here when you come back. Okay?"  
Dumbly, he nodded but he didn't really feel as though he believed her. "Alright then," Martha said, seemingly satisfied. "Now why don't you go outside now and see if your dad needs help with anything? You can finish up your schoolwork later." Clark grinned and ran quickly out the door, leaving Martha in the kitchen.  
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That night Martha lay in bed next to Jonathan, both of them exhausted as they usually were but she didn't rest as easily as she might have and Jonathan noticed this. "What's wrong? You're tossing and turning like you forgot to do something important."  
"Maybe I did, but that's not what's bothering me."  
"Then what is?"  
No use beating around the bush, she thought. "Do you think Clark remembers anything about how he came here?"  
Jonathan shrugged. "I don't know. He has said anything about it. I mean, he knows he's adopted, but I don't think it's crossed his mind to wonder how he got here. Why?"  
"He told me today the reason he was afraid to do go to school. He was worried that if he went, we wouldn't be here when he came back. That he'd be all alone."  
"Like he was until he came here?"  
"That's what I'm thinking. Maybe the emotions he felt coming here are still there. Remember how he was when he first came here? I don't think there was a single night when he wasn't clinging to one of us."  
"Yeah," she snuggled in closer to her husband. "Now he's always in his bed, no more camping outside of the door or anything."  
She could almost see Jonathan's smile in the dark. "Maybe we should put that to use..."  
Martha laughed quietly. "Yeah, maybe..." but Martha wasn't finished talking yet and Jonathan could tell. "Look," he said finally. "It could be that on some level, Clark is still very much afraid he's going be sent away again. Maybe he doesn't remember exactly why, maybe he doesn't want to. We can't change that, Martha. Neither one of us can reach into his mind and--" he searched for an appropriate phrase."  
"Iron out any psychological wrinkles he might have?" Martha filled in helpfully.  
"Exactly. Let's just watch and see. He'll be alright, Martha. Trust me."  
I always have, Martha thought to herself.  
Author's note: Well, this one's a bit longer I guess...I'm slowly working up to Clark's school experience...maybe in the next fic we'll hear about the event Pete talked about where Clark threw the bully into the door and caused it to splinter..hehe...can't wait to see the Kents reactions...  
Oh and by the way: I'm making all of this in the second grade, even though Pete mentions that Clark threw the bully when they were in the first grade simply because it doesn't make sense that Clark should be afraid of his parents leaving him  
when he's already been going to school for one year...it just didn't seem like it would work quite as well to me :) 


	6. Chapter 6

Martha made good on her promise and saw Clark off to school on his first day and was waiting there to pick him up again at the end of it. The thought that his parents would leave him stopped being a problem and as far as Jonathan and Martha were concerned, Clark's introduction into society was a success. As far as Clark was concerned, it was the most boring thing he'd ever done in his whole life.   
School was simply too EASY for him. This wasn't really the fault of the teacher; how was she supposed to know Clark had already covered the stuff they were doing at home with his mother? She wasn't, but that didn't prevent her from being pleased when he knew the answers in class and nor did it prevent the glares the other students had when he did. Still, it relieved the monotony and gave Clark something to do, besides.  
It wasn't until Pete pulled Clark aside one day after school that Clark learned he'd been going about it all wrong. "I don't think they like you very much, Clark," Pete told him seriously.  
"What?" Clark said surprised. "Why do you say that?"  
"You're always answering all the questions the teacher asks, like you're some kind of teacher's pet or something."  
Clark couldn't help but feel insulted at this claim. "I am not a teacher's pet," he said firmly. "I can't help it if I already did all that stuff."  
"No," Pete agreed, "you can't. But you don't have to make every kid in the room know it, either. Just sit there with a half-dumb look on your face, like this." Pete made his face go slack and held his mouth half way open.  
"And that's supposed to help me get through school?" Clark asked suspiciously.  
"Yep," Ross said happily.  
Clark tried it the next day and it seemed to work well enough; the hostile looks of the other children faded, but along wit hthat grew Clark's boredom. It was simply unbareable. Finally, in desperation, he reached for a crayon and drew a figure sleeping on asheet of paper. Pete, who had been sitting there slack-jawed for over an hour, noticed and grinned and drew a thought bubble going up from his head showing him riding a bike. The bike looked more than slightly deformed but Clark and Pete both thought it was hilarious and grinned and each other and started embellishing the picture with additional drawings. The main one showed a building (helpfully labelled 'school') with flames sprouting from the windows and a crowd of small stick-figures cheering out in front of it (speech bubbles read, helpfully, 'YAY!')  
The were busy adding color to the flames when Clark felt a firm hand clamp down on his shoulder and looked up to see their teacher standing behind them, her other hand clamped down on Pete's shoulder. "I'll just take this picture," she said, "and if the two of you would please remain here after school, I would be very grateful." Pete's face had lost the slack-jawed look and now had one that told Clark all he needed to know about the horrors of being cuaght drawing pictures of the school burning down to the ground. Clark swallowed.  
The rest of the afternoon passed unbelievably slowly as neither Clark nor Pete dared a look at each other and anytime their eyes met by chance, they were quickly reeled back to the front of the room. When the bell finally rang, Clark and Pete slowly made their way to the front of the classroom as the rest of the class emptied. "Sit down and wait there, please," their teacher said and, obediently, they did as asked. Their teacher began writing. And continued to write. And write. Clark snuck a look at Pete, hoping for guidance but Pete looked as lost and forelorn as Clark felt.  
After what seemed like an eternity, their teacher stood up and held two folded pieces of paper out to them. "You both know your drawings were inappropriate," she said in a stern voice. "I have written these notes to your parents and expect you to deliver them. Also, from now on, you two will be sitting on opposite sides of the classroom. Clark, you'll trade places with and will sit next to Greg. You may go."  
The two of them snatched the letters out of her hand and ran to catch the bus. As it pulled away, they collapsed in a seat. "I thought we were dead," Pete confessed, pressing his head against the hot, sticky seat in front of them. "But we got off pretty easy." He leaned back and began to unfold the letter.  
"What, you're going to read it?" Clark asked, surprised.  
"Yeah, she said to give it to our parents. She didn't say anthing about not reading it." Pete opened it and stared at it blankly. "What's wrong?" Clark asked.  
"It's written in cursive," Pete said bitterly. "I can't read it."  
"Here, lemme see. Maybe I can read it." Clark tried to snatch it out of Pete's hands but the kid across the aisle grabbed it first.  
"What's this, a note? Little second graders get in trouble in school?"  
"Give it--" Clark started to say but Pete grabbed his arm. "DON'T," he hissed. Pete pretended not to notice his letter was gone until the older kid crumpled it up and threw it at him. "Drawing pictures?" he said with scorn in his voice. "How boring." Pete breathed a sigh of relief and crammed the note into his pocket.  
"Why didn't you let me stop him?" Clark asked Pete angrily after they got off the bus and were walking home.  
"Because," Pete said, "He's Nathan, a third grader."  
"And last year he was a second grader. So?"  
"That's not the point. He's mean no matter what grade he's in. I heard he takes first graders' heads and dunks them in the toilet."  
"Ew," Clark wrinkled his face at this.  
"Exactly. Best to leave him alone."  
Silently, Clark agreed and Pete and he parted ways, each heading home.  
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The irst thing Clark did when he got home was place the letter on the kitchen counter. He'd spent the rest of the walk hom debating which would be smarter: presenting the letter to his parents right when he got home or waiting until they asked him what he'd done that day in school. Or, not telling them at all. He opted for the fourht option: leaving it on the counter while his parents were still out working meant that he was neither announcing nore hinding ist presence. But should they happen to overlook it...well...no one was perfect. He then snatched upa a couple of cookies and headed out to the fields.  
***************************************************************************  
His scheme lasted exactly until dinnertime, when his father walked into the kitchen to sit down and noticed the inconspicuous paper sitting on the counter. "What's this?" Jonathan asked, picking it up. Clark suddenly felt a boulder settle in his stomach. "Oh, a note from school," he managed to say as casually as possible.  
"Oh?" Jonathan threw him a look and then unfolded the paper and started reading. Clark found himself trying to watch him surrepticiously. First, Jonathan's face was open, curious, then for a moment it looked as though he was going to burst out laughing, but this was quickly swallowed down and his face became a mask of seriousness that certainly didn't make Clark feel any better. Martha read it over his shoulder and when they were both finished, they looked at him across the table and waited for him to speak. He didn't.  
"Well?" Jonathan asked, finally breaking the silence.  
'Well what?' Clark thought, but didn't dare say. "Yes?" He answered.  
"We'd like to hear from you what happened in school today, son."  
'Isn't that in the letter?' But Clark didn't say that either. Instead he opted for defending his actions. "It's BORING in school," he said. "I've already done everything we're doing now. So I just started drawing." It occured to Clark that it might be a mistake to make it seem like he had done it all, so he added hastily, "and Pete helped."  
"So you stopped paying attention in class, distracted Pete and then the both of you drew a picture of the school burning down?"  
'Yeah that was pretty much it,' Clark thought silently. "Well, what else were we supposed to do? I was bored."  
Jonathan and Martha exchanged looks and then Martha said, "Clark, no matter what you may think, we didn't send you to school so that you would be bored to death. We also didn't send you so you and Pete could play all day either."  
Clark found a snag. "But you said that if I went to school I'd get to see Pete more."  
"Yeah, but only if you pay attention in class," his father responded. "If this keeps up, you may not get to see Pete at all. Your teacher's already separated you two in class, you don't have to see each other outside of school either."  
Clark gaped at his parents. This just wasn't fair. "But you can't do that."  
"If you can't pay attention in school, we can keep Pete from coming over."  
"Look," Martha interjected. "School will get better with time you just have to be patient. Your teacher said that for the first couple of weeks you were doing really well and answering lots of questions and then somewhere, it just stopped."  
"That's because of the other kids," Clark informed them, partially hoping it would get their attention off him.  
"What other kids?" Jonathan asked.  
"The other ones. They didn't like me because I was answering all the questions and thought I was a teacher's pet." He decided not to include Pete's advice on how to counter them.  
"Clark, if the other kids are going to be jealous of you just because you know more, there's nothing you can do about it," Martha said genlty.   
"And it's no reason to start causing trouble in class. That'll get you other attention you don't necessarily want," Jonathan added. "Just do your best...don't draw all the attention to yourself but don't ward all of it away either."  
Clark nodded and scooped up the last bit of food off his plate. "I will. Can I be excused now, please?"  
"Yes," Martha answered. Clark sprung up from the table and ran outside, only to hear his dad call after him, "But don't forget the time! You've got chores to do too!"  
"I won't!" Clark yelled back, disappering. 


	7. Chapter 7

Author's note: And this one's a long one to make up for a long time without an update. I also went through and fixed some errors in the last chapter...shoulda done that before but I forgot. Sorry! And, yes, today's has the bully incident and introduces Greg Atkins, aka, Bug Boy! Hooray! Oh...and to the reviewer who asked about Lana: I don't know if she'll appear for a while...but instead of Kryptonite keeping them apart, it's cooties (hey, they're kids.) This one starts off the same night as the last one. Two other notes: Nicodemus is actually a town in Kansas, settled by black exodusters in the 1800s and, being a Kansan, I am annoyed by the fact they continually put woodlands in Kansas. THERE AREN'T ANY. But, for the sake of making this fic easier to write, I have kept the mythical Smallville Woods. * sigh * we all gotta compromise...  
Clark ran past the barns and through the fields, enjoying the cool evening air blow across his face. The land all around him was flat prarie with swells here and there on the horizon and a few lights that were houses. As he came upon a couple large rocks Clark's face broke into a grin. Earlier that day, his dad had asked him to get rid of them and Clark knew exaclty what he meant. He knew that, for whatever reason, he was stronger than most other kids around. This became abundantly clear when he first met Pete. His parents had told him before hand not to use his strength in front of other people and it turned out to be a good thing he listened: Pete was pretty weak. Until then, Clark had always figured that all kids were really strong and only lost their strength when they became adults. Maybe it was because around his parents, he could use it as much as he wanted and they ever acted as though it were weird or anything. If a matchbox truck went under the couch, he simply lifted up the couch and got it again. Pete could not do that and from what Clark gathered from the other kids he met at school, neither could they. Clark was suddenly faced with the knowledge that he was different. He knew he was adopted; Pete had bombarded him with questions about that when he first heard and Clark had answered everyone of them. Did he remember his natural parents? No. He only knew his parents. Where was he from? Metropolis or somewhere farther away? Clark didn't know that either. When Pete was finally convinced that Clark really didn't know anything about his life before the Kents, he let up and said, "I guessed adopted kids aren't that different after all," and Clark had believed him. Except for the strength. That made him different. Clark picked up the boulders and threw them over the fence, where they wouldn't be in the way of the plows and then headed back to the house.  
That evening, Clark asked his father about his strength while they were did the evening chores. "Some men are tall," his dad told him, "some are short. Every man has some sort of skill others don't. It just so happens that yours is strength."  
"Then why can't I use it? Off the farm I mean." His dad was a little slower in answering this one but after he finished pouring grain he said, "You told us today that the other students in your grade didn't like you because you knew more than they did and always answered the questions." Clark nodded as he placed some buckets on a shelf. "how do you think they'd feel if they learned you're a lot stronger than they are?"  
"I--I don't know. I guess they would feel the same way," Clark said slowly.  
"Exactly." The unfairness of it all suddenly struck Clark. "But Dad, why should they hate me for something I can't control? The only reason I know more than they do is because mom taught me more, but no one taught me how to be strong."  
"I know and that might make them dislike you all the more," Jonathan said calmly, taking off his workgloves.  
Clark clenched his teeth together. "I don't like that."  
His father shrugged resignedly. "Neither do I, Clark, but that's the way things are. If you really want to be accepted by your classmates, you have to pretend to be just as strong as they are but never stronger. Just as smart as they are, never smarter."  
Clark thought about this for a moment. Was that what he really wanted? To be accepted by his classmates? He remembered the looks they'd gave him, the homeschooled one, and decided right then that, yes, it was. "I can do that," he told his dad confidently.   
"Alright, if you're sure you can." Clark nodded and the two of them headed back to the house, Jonathan's hand on his shoulder.  
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"You may want to file for divorce, Martha," Jonathan called down into the storm cellar.  
Martha turned around and looked at her husband standing on the stairs. "Oh, really? Why this time?"  
"I just told our son to be average." Martha laughed and Jonathan managed to crack as small grin as he headed over to her.   
"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I won't be leaving that easily. Besides, I need to know just why you told Clark to be average before I decide to call a lawyer."  
"He wanted to know why he couldn't use his strength in front of the entire world."  
"And you told him 'because of the importance of being average'? I don't think Clark would buy that."  
"Well, first he asked why he was stronger than others and I just told him that was his skill, like some people are good at banking--"  
Martha smiled "And others are good at--"   
"Yeah," Jonathan inturrupted. "Then I told him that if he used that particular one in front of his peers they would hate him just like they hated him for knowing more than they did."  
"Jonathan, that's brutal."  
"I know. And knowing it's true doesn't make it any easier to deal with. But at least I managed get him to decide it would be in his interest to keep what he knows a secret. Now that he's going to school--"  
"We can't keep him completely blind to the fact he's different," Martha finished for him.  
"No we can't," Jonathan said, kissing her hair.  
"Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better if we had just kept him on the farm, homeschooled him and kept his connections to the outside world a bare minimum," Martha continued.  
"You know that wouldn't be right."  
"But it would have made it a lot easier to keep it all a secret. What if Clark hadn't willingly agreed not to use his strength in front of everyone? What would we have done then?"  
"I don't know," Jonathan admitted. "Something else. Something harsher."  
Martha just shook her head. "I wonder if we should tell him," she said, eyeing the black spaceship.  
"No, Martha. Now is definitely not the time. He knows he's different but he's satisfied with the fact he's just stronger. When that no longer works, that's when we tell him. He's too young. You know that."  
"I know." They stood there in the dim light together silent for a moment and then Martha went on. "Sometimes, I think that if I just stand here long enough, the ship will open and it will tell us how we're doing and what to do next. That maybe his parents will pop out and tell us we're doing a wonderful job and that will be that."  
"And maybe a user's guide and a certificate of achievement to boot," Jonathan added.   
Martha smiled. "I know, it sounds ridiculous, but I still wish it would happen all the same."  
"I know. It would be nice to know something at least. I've done as much as I can with that metal disc without rasing suspicion. I mean, how often does a farmer sudden become interested in ancient writing systems?"  
"Suppose they come back for him?" Martha asked. "What do we do then?"  
"Take them to our leader and let him deal with him?"  
"Brillant, Jonathan. I bet they won't even understand the reference."  
"That's what I'll be counting on. Come on, it's getting cold. Let's go back inside, Martha."  
She gave the silent spaceship one last look and then said, "Okay," and headed back up the stairs.  
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Pete was all grins the next day when Clark met him on their way to the bus stop. "They only took away video game privledges," he announced. "Other than that, they told me to stop messing around in class and that I should pay attention. Yours?"  
"Pretty much the same, except for the video games. I just have to pay attention more." He kicked the dirt. "I wish we had video games in school. Then we wouldn't have to be bored."   
Pete gave him a pitying look. "Don't worry. When I get mine back, you can come over and play whenever you want to. If I can get it away from my brothers."  
Clark nodded. Pete had about three older brothers and an older sister to boot. He was never actually sure how many. Some of them were just uncles while others were cousins visiting from Nicodemus, the town Pete's family had moved away from about twenty years before to open a creamed corn factory.  
School went a bit better that day. Instead of using the "look dumb" method, Clark answered some of the questions and then sat there for the rest, Pete doing the same on the other side of the room. Meanwhile, Clark had a new deskmate to get to know. The boy was short and skinny and wore glasses "I'm Clark," he said after he sat down. "I'm Greg Atkins," he responded quietly. "You're one of theose kids who got in trouble yesterday aren't you?"  
Clark didn't see the point of denying it. "Yeah. Me and Pete drew a pictureof the school burning down and she wasn't too happy about it." He nodded in the direction of the teacher.  
Greg grinned. "That's cool. Sometims I wish it'd do the same."  
Clark began to relax around him at this. "I think most of us do. Hey, you wanna hang out with Pete and me during recess? We're gonna try to get one of the basketballs and play."  
"Sure!" He said eagerly.  
Clark introduced Greg to Pete at the beginning of recess and Pete squinted at him. "Doesn't your family live down the road from mine?" He threw the ball at him.   
Greg nodded. "Yeah, we live closer to the woods though. My dad built me a tree house out thre. Said I spent enough time in the woods I might as well have a place out there." He shot at the basket and missed but Clark caught it and dribbled. "What is there to do in the woods?" He asked.  
"Bug collecting. I collect bugs. My mom won't let me have them in the house so I have to leave them in the treehouse." Clark threw the ball at Pete and crinkeled his nose in disgust. "Why don't you just let them go?"  
Pete laugned and three the ball back at Clark hitting him square in the chest. "Cause that wouldn't be COLLECTING them. It'd be finding them and letting them go again, stupid." Clark rubbed his chest where the ball had hit him and started walking over to where it had rolled but before he could reach it, Nathan picked it up. "Here, that's ours," Clark said, reaching out for the ball.  
"Not any more .You and those other babies can go play somewhere else. The basketball court's for third graders." Pete and Greg watched nervously.  
Clark glared and the older kid. "That's not in the rules.We can play basketball if we want to."  
"Yeah, sure you can and I can beat you up if I want to," the bully responded and pushed Clark hard. Surprised, Clark fell to the ground and the third grader laughed and walked away, taking the ball with him. Clark got up on his feet and was about to chase after him but Pete stopped him. "Don't. Go. After. Him," he said slowly, emphasizing each word. "We can do something else." Clark glared at Pete. "He took our ball. I'm gonna get it back."  
"No, you're not. You're gonna let him go and...and Greg's gonna show us ins and outs of bug collecting, right Greg?"  
Greg had been shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot during the whole episode and looks as uncertain now as he had before. "Yeah, sure. I can show you how to collect ants. I need more for my ant farm." They then spent the rest of the recess chasing down ants in the grass and trying to find anthills, which was entertaining enough.  
Greg grinned at the ants he now had in a baby food jar. "I'll put them with the others this weekend. If you want, you guys can come and see. I can show you my treehouse and all."  
Clark looked at Pete who was also grinning and said, "Sure we can do that."  
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That recess was the best part of the day, Clark thought as he sat in class next to Greg, who was doodling six-legged creatures in his notebook. Clark shifted in his chair uncomfortably. It was September, technically fall but in Kansas it was still the dog days of summer and Clark was sticking to his seat. He glanced over at Pete's seat. 'No, still empty,' he thought. Pete had gone to the bathroom about ten minutes ago and was still gone. Finally, he raised his hand. "Yes, Clark?" "Can I go get a drink of water?" His teacher nodded and Clark left the room, gratefully. He headed in the direction of the water fountain but took a detour at the boys restroom. When he opened the door, somehow he wasn't surprised when he saw Pete being held with his hand behind his back by Nathan. Pete looked at him with a pained look on his face but the bully just smiled when he saw Clark. "Just wait there, baby, I'll wash your head when I'm done with his."  
"Let him go," Clark said angrily.  
"Make me." The third grader wrenched Pete behind him, pushing him into the toilet stall and he made to lock the door but Clark rushed at the bully and pulled him away from Pete and out of the stall. Clark only meant to get him out of the way but he forgot himself and threw Nathan. The third grader crashed into the door, splintering it. "Come on," Clark said to Pete, holding out his hand. Pete grabbed it and they leaned over at Nathan, who was lying there blocking the door. "Gee, I guess us BABIES will just go now," Pete said loudly. Nathan opened his eyes painfully and groaned. "Come on," Clark said urgently. He pulled Pete out of the restroom and they started walking down the hall. "What's wrong with you?" Pete asked. "Why do you want to go? We HAD him, he was totally sprawled out on the floor, we coulda--."  
Clark interrupted him. "We coulda hurt him. Look, I just got in trouble yesterday for drawing in class, I don't want to get in trouble again for getting in a fight."  
"Ha, some fight."  
"Besides," Clark swallowed, this was his real worry, "what if he tells? What'll we do then? Or what if he comes after us again?"  
Pete laughed, which did nothing to ease Clark's fears. "Tell? Tell them what? That he got beat up by two second graders? He'd rather say he threw himself into that door. I don't think he'll come after us either...you scared him," Pete threw Clark a significant look. "How'd you do that? Throw him like that?"  
"I dunno...it all just...happened too fast." But it didn't matter...Pete wasn't really listening. He was too busy reinacting what had happened and it made Clark wonder...Pete didn't hate him because he was stronger than he was. Then again, he hadn't really been paying attention. "Hey, we're going? The classroom's the other way."  
"I know," Clark said with a smile. "I'm getting a drink."  
  
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Clark snuck into the barn in a way that implied he didn't want to be noticed but Jonathan noticed him anyway. "Hey, where'd you put today's note?" he asked teasingly, coming out from under the hood of one of the trucks. The joke rather died when, instead of laughing or even cracking a smile, Clark just gave him that look. 'Oh, no.' "Look, Clark, I was just joking...unless of course, there is a note."  
Clark shook his head. "No, no note but that's only because I didn't get caught."  
Jonathan didn't like where this conversation was going. Clark was a good kid, how the heck could he get in trouble two days in a row? He sighed, "Tell me."  
"There's been this bully bugging me an' Pete and today when I went to the restroom to find Pete, Nathan was trying to stick his head in a toilet so I grabbed him off Pete and sorta, kinda...threw him into the door."  
Jonathan winced. "Is he okay?"  
Clark shrugged, unconcerned. "I don't know but the door isn't."  
'I will not laugh,' Jonathan told himself sternly as he felt a smile tugging at his mouth. He decided to concentrate on the fact Clark didn't seem all too concerned about the bully's welfare. "What do you mean, you don't know? Clark, you can't just throw someone into a door and leave him there."  
Clark bristled. "He was about to shove Pete's head into a toilet. I wasn't thinking--"  
"Exactly."  
"What?"  
"You weren't thinking," Jonathan folded his arms across his chest.   
"Yes, I was, I just wasn't thinking about Nathan."  
"Yeah, you were just thinking about Pete and you forgot to think about everything else."  
"I thought about what mattered."  
Jonathan sighed. This wasn't going to be kind, but needed to be said. "Okay, so you prevented a bully from sticking Pete's head in a toilet. Gerat job. Then why did you seem so afraid you'd get in trouble?"  
Now the worry surfaced on Clark's face. "Because we're not supposed to fight."  
"And as soon as you saw wwhat was going on you forgot that rule. Clark, whenever something like that happens, you go to a teacher. That's safer for two reasons."  
Clark fidgeted for a moment, then said, "Pete didn't really seem to mind that I was stronger than him."  
"Pete was probably too relieved you stopped Nathan to much care about anything else."  
"But still..." Clark trailed off. "I guess I'll go now." Jonathan knew what Clark had left unsaid. He knew that Clark had hoped it would be okay to at least show his best friend what he could do. Jonathan would have wanted the same. Clark turned to go but Jonathan stopped him.  
"Clark, you did well despite the fact you broke the rules. You saw something bad happening and you stopped it. I'm not mad at you for that. It's just--you need to be careful, son. I don't want the school calling me asking for an explanation as to how a seven year-old could break a bathroom door."  
Clark broke into a grin, relieve Jonathan wasn't completely mad at him. "I know, I will be careful," he responded before running off.  
Jonathan stood there silently in the barn for a moment staring at the place where Clark had just been. Suddenly, in a moment of frustration, he threw the tool he was holding angrily and it landed with a dull thud on the ground. 'Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better if we had just kept him on the farm, homeschooled him and kept his connections to the outside world a bare minimum.' Martha's words from last night came back to him. 'Yeah,' he thought grimly, 'but who am I to ever take the easy way out?'  
Next week: Clark and Kryptonite meet for the first time:  
Clark: I don't feel well.  
Pete: Are you part bloodhound, Clark?  
Greg: Look, guys, a bug, a bird! No, wait, it's just a bug with a green rock imbedded in his head. 


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: And another big one...I didn't think it'd be that long when I started but that just goes to show you....  
  
"Come on," Greg called. "The treehouse isn't too far away now." It was finally Saturday and Pete and Clark were following Greg Atkins through a clump bushes and down a rocky slope. "I'm not sure," Pete whispered to Clark, "but I think that was poison ivy."  
Clark looked at Pete nervously. "How do you know?"  
"'Leaves of three' or something like that. We learned it in scouts."  
"Ah." Clark adjusted his backpack and quickened his pace to keep up with Greg, not to mention get away from Pete. Pete's memebership in the boy scouts and Clark's lack thereof was not something he wanted to think about right now. It was as irritating to him as walking through a valley of poison ivy would be. He'd begged, kissed up and used everything in his repetoire except for fit throwing to try to convince his parents to let him join the boy scouts with Pete when they were six but to no avail. The answer had been no. His mother had give him a pitying look when she'd said it, which was better than the stern one his father had given him but it had been a no all the same. The bad thing was they hadn't even given him a reason to explain why he couldn't. They usually did that but when it came to cub scouts no was all he'd heard. Pete had not been understanding and had taken it upon himself to try to convince the Kents to let Clark join but he'd come back to Clark with a depressed look on his face. "He said no. And he told me if either one of us asked again, we could spend the next weekend mucking out stalls. And the answer would still be no." He'd given Clark a disappointed look and then promised to share all the cool wildlife and camping tricks he learned with him, whatever consolation it was. That was probably what Pete thought he was doing right now but he was really bringing to mind the events of the past week and the new list of things Clark couldn't do.  
Distracted, Clark stepped right into Greg, who was kneeling on the ground. "Ow!" Greg cried, putting his hand on his back where Clark had addicently kicked him. "Sorry," Clark said. "I didn't see you there." He glanced around. "I thought we were going to the treehouse."  
"We are. It's straight ahead. I just stopped to pick up these catepillars I just saw. They're usually pretty hard to find."  
Clark gave the bugs a cursory glance and scanned the woods. "I don't see it," he said confused.  
"That's cause you're not looking up," Pete told him as he came up. "Look's pretty cool, Greg." Clark followed Pete's gaze to a large tree with what looked like a large wooden box with two holes cut in the walls surrounded by a few planks with a railing. His eyes moved down the tree, noting each and every piece of wood that had been nailed into the tree as a foothold. He gulped.  
Greg stood up, having finally captured his bugs. "Let's go up."  
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Clark preferred not to think about the amount of empty space between the treehouse and the ground as he stepped gingerly into the treehouse. The wood creaked under his feet and Clark could hear and feel the similar creakings coming from Pete and Greg who were already up there.  
"There you are," Pete said. "Isn't this place awesome? Man, I wish my dad would build me one of these. It's like your own HOUSE," he gushed, sticking his out of one of the windows.  
Greg smiled proudly but it faded in a moment. "You can probably have it," he said glumly. "My mom doesn't think it's safe to play in. Says it's bad enough I run around the woods all day but I don't have to be 15 feet off the ground too."  
"It is kind of...high," Clark said slowly, not wanting to seem like a complete weakling.  
Pete laughed. "I think your mom shoulda had Clark as a kid instead of you. Then again, his folks are pretty strick too. They wouldn't let him in the scouts either."  
Clark groaned to himself. Did Pete have to bring that up? But Greg brightened when he heard this. "Yeah? Cool! Maybe we could play together Tuesday nights or something."  
Clark forgot his annoyance at Pete momentarily. "Yeah, that'd be great, I could show you the loft and the farm and stuff." Greg looked thrilled at that idea and agree to talk to his parents about it.  
The treehouse walls were lined with aquariums filled with bugs and Greg showed them each and everyone of them. Many of them were spiders, a ton of aunts were in his three aunt farms but the butterfly was nearly empty. "Most of them are dead," he explained. "They only live for a week anyway and it's fall so they're all going south." But after a while, the thrill of looking at all the bugs died off so they unpacked the lunch Clark's mom had given them and sat there eating. Clark nibbled on his food, unsure if his nausea came from the fact he was so high off the ground or from the mayonaise that had turned the bread into a soppy mess.  
When they were finished, Greg stood up abruptly and started climbing down from the treehouse. "Hey, where're you going?" Pete called.   
"Come on! I wanna show you guys something!" Pete looked at Clark curiously but Clark merely shrugged, put his backpack back on and braced himself for the climb down. They finally reached Greg again on a path that had been almost entirely reclaimed by the plants that grew aside it. He pointed off into the distance. "You see that?"   
"See what?" Pete asked.   
Clark squinted off into the distance. "It's a building."  
Greg nodded. "It's an old foundry. I go in there to collect sometimes. It usually has the best bugs."  
Pete looked puzzeled. "Shouldn't it be locked up, I mean if it's closed down..."  
Greg laughed. "Yeah, sure it's locked up but when you're small and skinny, you can squeeze through most bars. I'll show you how."  
Getting in was as easy as Greg promised. Clark noticed the lock on the gate was already rusting over and considered knocking it off all together but Pete and Greg were already disappering behind the corner of the building and he decided to follow. He caught up as Greg started pulling a door with a chain and padlock on it forward. "I can't hold it very long. Usually I just use a piece of wood...come on, sleep through." Pete darted through like a cat and was in a split second before Greg lost his grip and it came slamming shut again. He wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans before turning to Clark. "You next?" Clark shook his head. "I'll hold the door," he said, "Just show me where the wood is you want me to brace it with." Greg nodded and Clark held the door open for him without a hint of a struggle, kicked the piece of wood in place and the slipped through before it slid out place.  
The first thing that struck Clark about the foundry was how big it was. The place was a huge half cylinder that looked like the other half was buried in the ground right beneath it. Part of the floor may have been concret, but sand lay strewn over it and here and there, a few plants were poking up. The second thing that struck Clark was a sick feeling that nearly brought him to his knees. He gasped and leaned heavily on the wall. Pete and Greg were already moving away from him, running through the sand and tripping over roots every once in a while. Clark gritted his teeth and stood up only to feel as though he was going to wretch and fell down again. "Pete..." He called out, but his voice was weak and strained and Pete wasn't sure if they could hear him over the noise they were making themselves. Groaning, he picked up the nearest rock and threw it, but it only went a couple feet. He picked up another one and aimed at the nearby metal wall....this time it sent a vibrating sound through the foundry that cause the other two boys to look up.  
"Hey, where's Clark?" Pete suddenly asked.  
"I dunno...he made it in," Greg replied, looking around. Pete saw him then, lying there on the ground and ran as fast as he could over to him. "Clark! What's wrong? What happened?"  
"Did something bite you?" Greg asked as he knelt down.  
"It hurts..," Clark whispered.   
Pete looked scared. "I'm gonna go run and get his dad. You watch over them. Hold the door open for me!" Greg nodded and got up to open the door, his eyes never leaving Clark. "What's wong with him?" Greg asked.  
"I don't know but I've never seen him like that before." And with that Pete was gone. Greg came back and sat next to Clark and talked to him. Clark didn't have a clue what he was saying but he just gripped onto the voice and held onto it, even as the face speaking the words swarmed in his eyes and the light waved and everything grew dark until it sounded as though there was a permanant wind blowing in his ears then suddly he felt himself being dumped on the ground. In the distance he heard a voice calling him but it was so far away, Clark didn't think it would be worth it. 'Wait,' a small voice inside him said. 'Isn't that Dad?' He listened a bit harder. "Clark! Clark! Come on, wake up! Open your eyes." It spoke with such urgency Clark had a hard time resisting it. "Should we take him to the doctor, Mr. Kent?" a younger voice asked. "No, he'll be fine...come on! Clark!" Clark blinked and saw the world, fuzzy and out of focus before his eyes. His father was leaning over him, his hand, on his face. When he saw Clark's eyes were open, the concerned look on his face turned into a relieved one. "Thank god," he said. "Come on, we gotta get you home." He picked up Clark in his arms and carried him like a baby while Greg and Pete followed silently, but still threw Clark concerned looks.   
"I can walk," Clark said.   
"No," Jonathan told him in a voice that left no room for arguement so Clark just let himself be carried while he felt stronger all the while.  
When they finally reached the farm, Martha rushed out. "My god, is he okay? What do you think happened?" She asked as they lay him down on the couch.  
"I don't know," Pete answered. "He was alright when last I saw, then we turned around and saw him all keeled over."  
"They were in the foundry," Jonathan informed Martha.  
"I thought that place was locked up! How could you guys go in there? There are dangerous things in there!"  
Pete looked irritated. "It wasn't anything dangerous that harmed Clark in there. He was right by the door." Jonathan nodded in agreement. "He was as weak as a baby. I had to carry him out, Martha. It took five minutes til he came to."  
Clark lay there on the couch feeling not only infirm, but as though he had suddenly disappered. "I'm not deaf," he protested. "I don't feel sick now any more either." He didn't and it was true but he said it mostly to try to ease the concerned looks that were on both his parents faces.   
"Maybe it was the sandwich he ate," Greg provided helpfully.  
"The sandwich?" Martha sounded puzzeled.   
"Yeah," Pete took on that call. "We didn't eat them til late and they were pretty mushy."  
"Gooey."  
"All messed up. And it was hot, too," the two of them attempted explained.  
"Alright, we get the idea," Jonathan interrupted harshly. "You two can go now. You've helped enough." As Clark's two friends headed out, Jonathan stopped Pete. "Thanks for getting me, Pete."  
"No problem, sir. Is Clark going to be okay?"  
"I don't know. We'll see."  
Jonathan sat down in the arm chair by the couch and Martha came in with a thermometer which she promptly stuck in Clark's mouth when he opened it to protest that he did not have a fever and did not feel sick. The whole minute it was in his mouth, no one said a word. His parents just sat there looking at him worridly and Clark made the desicion never to get sick again. It wasn't worth it. Martha took out the thermometer when it beeped and shook her head. "His temperature is as normal as it could be. No fever," she touched his forehead with the back of his hand to make sure."  
"Clark, I want you to tell me everything that happened when you guys entered the foundry. Leave nothing out," Jonathan ordered. So Clark began to talk. He told them how they saw it, how Greg said he always collected bugs there, how they got in, how he'd held the door open for Greg and then used the wood to prop it open so he could come in and how he'd felt ill as soon as he did. "I tried to throw a rock to tell the others cause they were already so far away they couldn't hear me but I could only throw a few feet. I felt so..." he searched around for a word. "So weak I guess." Jonathan stood up and walked over to the mantelpiece at this and Martha pursed her lips. "And after that?" she asked. "They saw I was sick and came over...then Pete said he was going to go get dad and I sort of blacked out. Next thing I was outside and on the grass." She nodded. "So am I going to the doctor?" Clark asked tentitively. He'd never been to the doctor before, not even for a shot like the rest of the kids in the class and from what they'd told him, the thought of it made him feel nervous. His dad turned from the mantelpiece. "No, Clark, you're not going to the doctor."  
His mother nodded in agreement. "Why don't you just lay there quietly for a while to make sure you don't get sick again, okay? I'll bring you some books and something to eat and drink."  
Clark nodded and lay back on the couch. Oddly enough, he didn't feel sick anymore but he did feel very hungry and was satisfied enough to leaf through books and read while his parents talked quietly in the other room.  
  
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"Jonathan, what do you suppose happened? He's never, ever been sick before."  
"I don't know," Jonathan answered Martha. "I've never seen him like that before either. He was all pale and sort of clammy to the touch. He couldn't hear me, it was like he'd fainted or something."  
"God, what would have happened if Pete hadn't come and gotten you? Do you think he would have--"  
"No," Jonathan said sharply, cutting off Martha's question before he could finish it. "Don't even think about that." She nodded, but it did nothing to answer the questions she had nor ease the worry.  
"He seems fine now, in any case," she said, hoping to change the conversation.  
"I know. He seemed to get after a while and now, I don't think he's much sick at all."  
He smiled encouragingly at Martha, "but no matter what Pete thinks, I'm pretty sure it wasn't the sandwiches. Whoever heard of salamonela poisoning that ran it's course in half an hour?"  
"I don't know if I'm relieved to hear that or not, Jonathan," Martha said in response. "If it were salomonella, at least we would know what it was. But other than that, I don't have any idea. I've just never seen him sick before. We almost lost him."   
"I know," Jonathan told her soothingly, holding her in his arms. He put his head on top of hers. He had been just as worried. Clark had never been sick his entire life. Never had an immunization, never had a scrape or anything. Then suddenly to find him as week as a kitten, sprawled on the floors of the foundry floor...unsettling did not begin to describe what Jonathan felt. And the other two boys..."Whatever it was, I think it was something that only affects Clark."  
Martha looked up at him. "You mean because of his origin?"  
Jonathan nodded. "I don't know what it is but we need to keep him away from it. What if we're not here the next time this happens? We need to make sure the boys don't go into the foundry again."  
"Or at least make sure they can get out of it easier if they do," Martha added. "They could have all three been trapped in there."  
Jonathan nodded and stepped away to go look on Clark. "He's just reading," he reported back. "And he's eaten the entire plate of food you brought."  
Martha laughed. "Well, it didn't harm his appetite that's for one thing. So, what do we tell him?"  
"Not to go there again."  
"Obviously," Martha said with a bit of annoyance in her voice. "I mean, what do we tell him made him ill? Something in the foundry?"  
"We'll have to or else he won't have any reason to stay away from it."  
"And when he asks why it didn't make Pete and Greg sick to?"  
"Martha, let's just hope he doesn't ask that. I'm running out of answers. I'm afraid either we're going to have to come up with some very creative lies or just use the 'do as we say' method. I think that one's the safer one. Less thinking."  
Martha snorted at this statement. "I won't say that's inaccurate. Suppose we ought to go tell him?"  
"Yeah."  
The both of them headed back into the living room where Clark was happily reading away with not a hint of the clammy sweat that had covered him about an hour ago and it was all Jonathan could do not to shudder. 'How are you supposed to react when the healthiest child in the world nearly dies of unexplained causes?' he asked himself. He didn't bother waiting for an answer. Instead he sat down on the footstool while Martha made herself comfortable on the edge of the couch. She touched his forehead again to make sure he had no more fever but Jonathan already knew he wouldn't. "How you feeling, son?" He asked.  
"Better," Clark responded. "Do I have to spend the whole day lying here?"  
Martha shook her head. "No, not if you don't want to. But we would like it if you could stay on the farm for the rest of the weekend."  
Jonathan nodded in agreement. "If you want to have your friends over, that's fine but we'd like to keep an eye on you."  
Clark frowned as he sorted this out. "What made me sick?" he asked finally.  
"We don't know," Jonathan admitted. "But until we did, we don't want you going into the foundry."  
"Why?"  
"Just as a precaution," Martha assured him. "It could have just been the sandwiches like Pete suggested but we want to make sure." She pinched his cheek playfully. "We can't have you getting sick on us all the time!"  
Clark pulled away, "Moommm," he complained and Martha smiled and Jonathan felt himself relaxed. 'Martha's not worried anymore,' he told himself. 'That has to mean something.' He had to admit that when he saw Clark after he pulled him out of the foundry, his first worry was how he was going to tell Martha their son was dead. He had felt so cold. So distant. After they had tried time after time to have children with no results, finding Clark had transformed their lives and it had pained him to think how it would change again with Clark gone. "Well," he finally said to Clark standing up, "Don't be in any rush to get up. Just get up when you want to."  
"I don't have to help with chores tonight?" Clark asked.  
"Nah, not unless you feel up to it."  
Clark spent a few seconds clearly weighing his options before saying, "I think I can do it." Jonathan smiled. "Sure you can," and then left the room to finish the day's work on the farm. He threw one more look over his shoulder and saw Martha mouth, "He'll be fine," at him and Jonathan knew it was true.  
  
Next Chapter: Well, that's about it guys. Unless I decide to write something more when Clark's 12, that is. I dunno. If I come up with anything else to say, I'll write it. 


	9. Chapter 9

Author's note: Alrighty, thus far I have 2 more chapters planned, including this one...we'll see if the other one actually materializes or not.  
Now, on with the show!!  
  
Clark held the bat in his hand and peered around his shoulder out at his father who pitched the ball. It rose in the air in a smooth fast curve and Clark watched it approach and swung as it neared the plate. The bat and ball connected with a crack and Clark swung through cleanly then stood there to watch where it went: a grounder, right between second and third. He grinned, pleased with himself.  
Jonathan was also happy with him. "That was a good one, son," he called to Clark after catching the ball. "But you might be able to hit it a little harder. Not too much more but enough to where you hit a few grounders." Clark nodded and lifted up the bat to hit again.  
The sun was setting and darkness was setting in but that was the only time Jonathan had to work with Clark and controlling his strength. This was particularly important today, as Clark was playing baseball in gym the next day and as soon as he had told his dad about that, he'd promised to work with Clark on taming his hitting and throwing. It was frustrating, if anything. They had started simply with Clark just tipping the ball, then moving slowly upwards by degrees until Clark hit the ball hard enough to ensure he'd do well but not hard enough to break someone's hand should they try to catch it. The problem was that Clark got tired of just tipping the ball or whatnot and slipped back to just swinging as he normally would. Jonathan didn't bother going after those balls, or rather, what was left of them. Still, by then, Jonathan seemed satisfied enough. "Now as long you don't get frustrated with having to think about everything, it should work out just fine. Don't forget yourself." Clark nodded as they went in.  
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Gym was, for all intents and purposes, Clark's favorite class and not just because he was stronger than everyone else. That made it harder for him because he had to temper is strength but Clark still managed As without even breaking a sweat. So, he wasn't too worried as he lined up along a wall of the gym with the rest of the class. Their teacher stood in front of them, tossing a baseball up in the air as he waited on them. "Alright," he said when they were all there. "We're going to start today with a bit of sprinting from this line," he tapped the ground with his foot, "to the other line," he pointed at the other end of the gym. "Then we'll through the ball around a bit before playing a game. Spread out so you all have room!" Pete and Clark exchanged a look and then spread out. The whistle blew and they were off. Clark ran to the other side of the room and back again almost before the whistle finished blowing and was shocked to find the others only feet away from the start line. He glanced around, confused. "Clark, what're you doing? The whistle means go, not stand around looking at the scenery!" Mr. Mathers shouted at him.  
"But I-"  
"No buts! Go!" Clark pushed off again, this time paying attention to his runing and moved at a quick run but was still one of the last ones back. Pete must have noticed the confusion and annoyed look on his face because he said, "It doesn't matter, Clark. Mathers yells at everyone, for some reason or another."  
Clark shook his head. "No, it's not that it's-" but he stopped when he realized what he would be saying: ' I finished the sprint before he even finished blowing the whistle' sounded ridiculous as a thought.  
"What is it?" Pete asked.  
Clark hesitated. "Nothing, it was nothing. Let's go get a ball, come on."  
The rest of the period, Clark was very careful of all his actions. He panicked once when Pete caught a ball and said, "That was hard!" but then added, "I mean, the other ones were pretty weak," and Clark calmed down a bit.  
Still, the rest of the day, Clark couldn't help but wonder why it had happened and, more importantly, how it had happened. He was pretty sure he hadn't imagined it. He'd heard the whistle blow and had run off...he remembered running to the other line...it just seemed too real not to be. But at the same time, it seemed to unreal to be real. 'No one,' he told himself, 'can move that fast.' 'But,' a dissenting voice inside of him said, 'no one is as strong as you, either.' His heart plummeted as he realized this and that it was more than likely he hadn't imagined it at all. Still, there was only one way to be sure...  
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Clark probably spent half his life doing chores. Not at one time, of course, but he figured that if counted all he'd done over the course of his life, it had to be around six years. His parents never gave him more than he could handle but Clark figured ifhe could run faster than everyone else, maybe he could get his chores done faster too. He looked around. Fee, hay bayling, and sweeping. Taking a deep breath, he nodded to himself and let go. 'I'm doing it,' he realized. The world seemed like a statue and no matter how fast he moved, Clark felt, it would always be moving slower. Ten minutes later, he was done and presented himself to his father, who was working on the combine in the barn. "Hey, Clark, can you hand me that tool on the bench over there?" Clark zipped over and back and put it in his hand. "Thanks," Jonathan said absently. Clark just stood there and Jonathan finally noticed. "Why are you just standing around? It's not like you have a lack of work to do."  
"I'm finished," Clark informed him.  
"Excuse me?" Jonathan pulled himself halfway out from underneath the machine. "Clark, you just got home half an hour ago. how the heck could you possibly be finished?"  
Clark wondered if it was wise to bring this up when his dad was repairing farm equipment; it always made him grouchy, then he simply shrugged and said, "I did it faster."  
"Faster? How much faster? You had to feed the livestock and bale some hay." The irritation in his voice was very clear by this point and Clark couldn't help but respond to it. "I know! I did!" he said just as irritably. "I don't know exactly how I did it I just did. It was like in gym today."  
That got his attention. Jonathan sat up. "What happened in gym today?" Clark wasn't entirely sure he wanted totell him now. "Nothing, I mean, everything with the hitting and throwing went well, but we started off by sprinting across the room and back and I swear I did it before Mr. Mathers finished blowing the whistle."   
When Jonathan spoke again, the irritation was gone from his voice and was filled instead with a sort of disbelief. "Clark, I don't know how to tell you this but that's not," Jonathan realized what he was saying and who he was saying it to. He tried to back up. "I mean, running back and forth across a gym before he even finished blowing the whistle? That's pretty fast."  
Clark felt positively miserable now. "I know but I know I'm not making it up."  
Jonathan sighed and put down the tool he was holding. "Tell you what. You know the fence post and the crossroads south of here?" Clar nodded. "It's about a mile there and back. Run there and we'll talk when you getback." Before Jonathan could blink, Clark was gone.  
He stood there for a moment, shocked. "Oh, Martha," he said in a singsongy voice. "Life is about to get a lot more interesting."  
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Jonathan had barely gotten to the house and started telling Martha about Clark's new ability when Clark was back, not even exhausted. "I went to the barn first," he explained, seeming to pop out of nowhere and causing his parents to jump slightly. "But you weren't there so I came here instead. That took some time." Jonathan looked at his watch. It was about one minute and thirty seconds since Clark had left. "Wow," he said in spite of himself. "A mile in 1.30 that's pretty fast," he admitted. Clark beamed but Martha still looked uncertain. "Clark, are you sure nobody saw you? I mean, you're moving fast enough but still..."  
Clark shrugged, seeming rather unconcerned. "I don't think so, the teacher thought I hadn't left yet and even Pete thought I was just mad because he yelled at me."  
"And you ran the sprint again?"  
"Yeah." Clark reached for an apple and bit into it. "But I didn't run it as fast. I guess it must have just happened cause I wanted to get the sprint over with."  
"So you weren't really concentrating on runnint?" Martha asked and Clark shook his head. "I just...," he broke off for a second then continued in a rush. "How can this happen? I mean, no one else can run that fast."  
Jonathan winced inwardly when Clark mentioned that. He was afraid he would ask something like that. He looked at Martha, the question 'Should we tell him?' on his lips. She pursed her lips and made a slight movement with her head. No. 'Great,' Jonathan thought. 'I get to play Let's-see-what-I-can-make-up-on-the-spot.' He ran a hand through his hair. "Well, son, we don't know that for sure. You're probably faster than most people but I wouldn't say everyone." Clark looked unconvinced and Jonathan looked to Martha for help.  
"Clark," she began, "This is kind of like your strength except you already have it under control, more or less."  
This grabbed Clark's attention. "What do you mean?"  
"Well, you've always had your strength and there's nothing we can change about that except teach you how to control it and we've done that. But this-you seem to have this pretty well under control."  
Jonathan caught on. "Yeah, you said you weren't concentrating so it must just have happened because you didn't concentrate on running just like everyone else."  
"But I meant to use it to get my chores done today," Clark objected. "I just sort of let go and then I did it. It was easy."  
Jonathan shrugged off the objection. "See? You've already got it under control. It happened because you weren't concentrating and you learned how to make it happen when you were. Now you just have to make sure that it doesn't happen again in school."  
Clark didn't like that idea one bit and it showed. "Great," he muttered. "Another skill I have I can't use," he spit out the word 'skill' like it left a bad taste in his mouth.   
"Clark, you've gotten by without this-speed-before," Martha said gently. "It shouldn't be any different now."  
"But it is!" Clark shouted. "There's always something I can't do even though I can. I never get a reason."  
"Just because you can do something doesn't mean you should, Clark," Jonathan interjected. "That's all we're trying to tell you. We think it would be better if you did not use it. But," this was the risky part, Jonathan knew, "whether you listen to us or not is up to you."  
Martha gave him a look like she thought he was crazy but luckily decided to hang with him and see where it was going. "Exactly. We don't mind if you use it on the farm, lie your strength to get your chores done faster or whatever, but other than that, it's not necessary. No matter how fast you can move, you'll still have to sit in school 8 hours every day. Speed simply isn't going to help you there."  
Jonathan was relieved to see Clark's resolve break a bit and a look of uncertainty covered his face. "I guess...I'll think about it."  
Jonathan thought that sounded great. "Alright, we'll settle for that. Now why don't you go upstairs and see how quickly you can get your homework done?" Jonathan barely got the question out when Clark was gone with a whoosh. "But we expect QUALITY homework," he yelled after him.  
"That's going to take some getting used to," Martha said giving Jonathan a look that implied this was somehow his fault. "I'm not sure if I would have told him it was up to him if he listens to us or not."  
"I know. I wasn't sure if I should have told him that either but I had to tell him something. He's twelve, Martha, he's not just going to obey everything we say without question anymore."  
"I know," Martha replied. "I'm just worried that he's going to tell and show everyone then everything we've done thus far will have been for nothing."  
"We'll tell him the truth before that happens," Jonathan said determinedly. "I could have told him today but you didn't want me to."  
Martha shook her head. "No, it just didn't seem right. I just-part of me doesn't ever want to tell him while another part of me knows that one day, our explanations aren't going to be good enough anymore and that one day he's going to ask questions we can neither answer nor distract him away from." She took a deep breath. "Fortunately, that wasn't today."  
Jonathan nodded. "It'd be easier though, wouldn't it?" If he knew the truth we wouldn't have to act like nothing's wrong and hide the secret from him as well as everyone else."  
"Yes, I suppose that's true. But then we'd have to admit that we don't have all the answers and right now, he's still mostly convinced we do."  
"Well, I wouldn't say 'convinced'," Jonathan said with a smile. "It's more like suspension of disbelief. He wants to believe we know everything cause the alternative is only that much worse."  
Martha responded quietly. "Jonathan, that's nothing new. I think most of us are like that in some way or another."  
And that was that. Next week: Clark gets 'the talk'. 


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note: Sorry about the long wait...I've been busy...and I haven't been in school much lately (which is really the only time I acutally sit down and write because it's my only defense against the mind numbing boredom.) So...here it is:  
  
Martha opened the door to Clark's room cautiously as the last few months had taught her to do. It usually lessened the shock of whatever lay behind it. She peered around the door. Well, it wasn't so bad, all things considered. It seemed that in addition to being able to do everything faster, Clark was able to make them messy about a million times faster: his room was a disaster area of varying degrees. Clothes that should have been placedin the laundry were strewn all over the floor. Not that getting them to the laundry was a problem, Clark just always forgot. "I swear," Martha said to herself aloud, "I'm just going to stop gathering up his clothes. He'd probably end up going to school naked." She shoved a pile of dirty clothes into the laundry basket and then made a move towards his bed to pull off the sheets that were probably in as dire need of a good wash as the rest of his things. She yanked the comforter off the bed and it fell to the floor as she pulled off the top sheet and threw it into the basket. However, while reaching for the bottom one, a wet spot on the sheet her hand had had the misfortune of coming into contact with distracted her. "Ew," she said as she pulled her hand back. Disgusted, she wiped it on the other sheet then turned her attention back to the spot on the sheet. "What the heck is that?" she wondered for a second, then suddenly, she realized exactly what it was and pulled the bottom sheet off and threw it in the laundry basket to be washed. It clearly needed it.  
  
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Martha glanced up from the stove as Jonathan came in from the fields at midday for lunch. She couldn't help but feel odd preparing lunch for only two when Clark was at school. The whole farm just seemed to quiet. Too relaxed. Sometimes she'd remember back to the days when Clark was afraid to go to school because she thought she and Jonathan would be gone when he got back. 'How odd,' she thought, 'that itÄs not me who is afraid that one day Clark will go off to school and never come home.' She sat the lunch down on the table and the two of them began to eat while Martha racked her brain for a way to bring up the topic most on her mind.  
  
Jonathan, on the other hand, seemed to only have the farm on his mind. "A couple more weeks of this weather and I think we can count on a bumper wheat crop this year. That'll be a blessing after last year's crop," Jonathan made a look of disgust at that memory. "We'll have to find a new fieldhand to replace Earl. Don't ask me where we'll find one. I'll also have to see if Clark is up to helping repair the combine today. He can't do it quickly so I don't know--"  
  
"I think you need to have a talk with Clark," Martha burst in, deciding there probably wouldn't be a better moment.  
  
"Uh...what?" Jonathan said confused.  
  
"I think you should talk with Clark." She put emphasis on the word 'talk'.  
  
Jonathan stared at her, the confused look still on his face. "Martha--do you really think the time is right? I mean he's kind of young."  
  
"Oh, trust me, it's time."  
  
Jonathan still didn't believe her. "I mean, has he been asking you questions? He hasn't said anything to me."  
  
"I'm not sure he knows it exactly himself. Which is why now is the perfect time to have the talk."  
  
This was simply too much for Jonathan. "Martha, I thought we agreed not to tell him until he started asking questions himself," he said, his voice filled with irritation. "Until an our explanations are no longer good enough."  
  
Realization dawned on Martha. "Jonathan, that's NOT the talk I'm talking about!" She started to laugh. "I don't want you to give him THAT talk. I want to to give him THE talk."  
  
The sudden change of direction left Jonathan in the dust. "THE talk?"  
  
"Yes. THE talk."  
  
Jonathan got it. "Oooohh...THAT talk."  
  
Martha was relieved. "Good, you got it. I was worried I was going to have to draw a picture."  
  
He laughed. "Sorry, it's hard to know what you're talking about when there are two really big things Clark doesn't know about."  
  
"Yeah, I know. I guess we ought to be happy--It means he's normal...to this extent at least."  
  
Jonathan nodded and scooped the last bite of food into his mouth. "Yeah, it also means that Clark and I will be going on a walk today instead of repairing the combine."  
  
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Jonathan looked up as he heard footsteps on the barn floor and saw Clark standing there awkwardly. He hand't sped in as usual and seemed ill at ease. "Mom said you wanted me?" He said.  
  
'I think he thinks he's in trouble,' Jonathan thought, amused. "Just wait there, I'll be done in a second, son." His tone of voice made Clark's expression change from being sure he'd done something wrong to one of confusion and Jonathan was suddenly aware that he was enjoying this. It was somehow satisfying to see Clark not enitrely sure if he was in trouble or not. 'I wonder if I should pretend he is just to see if he's been up to anything he shouldn't be and hasn't thought to tell anyone.' As the last piece of equipment snapped inot place, Jonathan changed his mind and stood up to face his son. "Come on, Clark, let's go for a walk." As the exited the barn, Jonathan couldn't help but notice Clark was walking with the awkwardness of a 12 year old boy but Jonathan could only imagine how that must be compounded by the fact Clark was stronger and faster that most other ones. He wondered sudeenly if Clark's people had some sort of coming of age ceremoney and found himself picturing ritualistic tattooing, dancing around open fires and roast wild boar. He shook his head firmly to get the images out of his head.  
  
"I'm not in trouble, am?" Clark asked finally while Jonathan was still trying to think of a good angle to approach this from,. "No, no, you're not in trouble. Unless of course you've done something recently you should be in trouble for," Jonathan threw Clark a sharp look and Clark quickly denied it. "Good, I'm glad." He pause, somehow feeling this should be easier than it was. How had his dad done it? Actually, now that Jonathan thought about it, his dad hadn't really had to explain much. Jonathan had pretty much figured it out himself, as growing up on a farm didn't exactly leave much room for ignorance on that matter. What Jonathan had received was basically a confirmation that it worked much the same way with humans, too. 'I just won't let the snag tha Clark isn't human bother me,' he decided.  
  
"Let's see," he said outloud, "you're twelve now, aren't you?"  
  
"Almost thirteen," Clark said helpfully.  
  
"Yeah," Jonathan agreed. Not that it mattered, that only meant that it had been 10 years ago that he and Martha had found Clark in a field. "That means," he continued, "that one way or another, you're beginning to maure. I'm not going to pretend you're completely ignorant about this and I guess I'm just here to tell you it's normal and answer any questions you have." 'What a good feeling it is,' he realized, 'to tell your son something's normal and, for once, actually mean it.' "Like the fact that you're growing faster than you can run now," he pressed down on Clark's shoulder as though he were trying to make him smaller. "If you don't stop soon, you'll be taller than I am," he joked.  
  
Clark laughed and for that moment the awkwardness was gone. They walked along for a bit in the aftermath of that moment then Clark said, "You mean all this about sex, don't you Dad?"  
  
Jonathan didnÄt know if it was aw good thing or not that the topic was finally out in the open and decided it didn't matter; he's just have to go along with it. "Yes, I do. And you're just now reaching the age where, physically speaking, you'll be albe to have children of your own. Though that doesn't mean I recommend it," he added quietly.  
  
Clark looked very taken aback. "No!" he said firmly, "I don't want kids now that's just...blech." He made an exaggerated disgusted look on his face and Jonathan laughed. "I'm glad but you'll want them eventually, trust me."  
  
"Like you and mom wanted me," Clark said.  
  
"Yeah, like that," Jonathan agreed.  
  
"But you couldn't have kids of your own...?" The question was unasked but it was a question all the same and Jonathan knew he had to answer. "No, so we adopted you." Clark didn't say anything and Jonathan decided to go a bit futher. "You see, after we were married," 'That's it, combine the dieas of sex and marriage,' he told himself, "we wanted children but your mom couldn't have any and we went to the doctor and found out that her body had built up antibodies against a baby."  
  
"Couldn't she just get that fixed?" Clark asked.  
  
"Maybe but it would have been too...difficult." Too expensive, too time costly, too stressfull on Martha herself. They had thought about it so much and the thoughts of undergoing any of the treatments the doctors had offered had been tempting but in the end they both knew it was beyond their means. Jonathan doubted he would ever forget the pain of having to deny Martha something so simple as a child just because they couldn't afford it. "Then we got you and haven't really given it much thought." Emphasize on the work 'much'.   
  
"Oh. but you guys could adopt again, couldn't you?"  
  
'Does he want a younger sibling`?' Jonathan wondered. "I suppose," he answered, 'If another spaceship crashed in our backyard,' then outloud, "but the process is very strenuous and we were lucky we got you. I don't know if it would happen quite as easily a second time." He tried to keep his answers as vague as possible but Jonathan couldn't help but wonder if he were saying too much. He didn't want to openly lie to Clark. "In any case, you're just starting to go through puberty. In a while, I imagine you'll be getting to the really fun stuff, like your voice changing and facial hair. Of course, we're hoping that eventually you'll stop growing." Jonathan wasn't really sure about any of these things, he was merely hoping it would happen.  
  
"How tall am I going to be?" Clark asked.  
  
"No idea. That depends on your biological parents. Judging by your height and your foot size, I'd say 'tall'."  
  
Clark grinned. "I don't mind being tall. Makes playing basketball easier."  
  
Jonathan smiled. Clark's love for basketball had developed over the last year and he thoroughly enjoyed showing off in the one place he could: the basketball hoop Jonathan had been forced to mount on the side of the barn. Even when Pete came over to play with him (which he often did), Clark still played well, a fact that led Jonathan to believe Clar would have been skilled at basketball no matter what. "Well, good, cause I don't think you're going to have much choice in that matter," he answered.  
  
It had really been easier that he'd thought it would be, Jonathan reflected as they headed back towards the house at the end of their talk. Not as vague and uncomfortable as his talk with his father had been and certainly more informative.  
  
He nodded at Martha as they entered the house to let her know the talk was done, the information had been passed on and, no, they hadn't had to tell him EVERYTHING. "I did have to tell him why we couldn't have kids, though," he mentioned as they were getting ready for bed.  
  
"And how did he respond to that?"  
  
"Oh, he accepted it well enough. I think it was harder for him to accept the fact he will probably never have a little brother or sister."  
  
Martha laughed. "Well, we could always adopt again, though I imagine it'd be a little difficult to explain to the adoption agency we've already adopted. We'd get a little more attention than we want."  
  
"True enough." He folded back the bedspread and got in. "I do wonder, however, how much we can expect from Clark at this stage. I mean, how much will be normal, growing up as usual..."  
  
"And how much will be the total unpredictability we've usually had with Clark?" Martha finished.  
  
"You hit it on the head."  
  
"I know." She lay down tiredly. "I suppose it would be unusual for things to be normal around here."  
  
Author's note: And that's it. I don't imagine I'll be writing anymore. I really can't think of anything more I'd like to write, unless the day Chloe comes out to the farm to visit, but I'm not feeling too compelled to write on that. So yeah. As for Martha's infertility thing, well, I did some research into it and found that some cases of infertility fall under the category of "unexplained" and usually have to do with immunological disorders where the woman has built up anti-bodies either to the sperm or to letting the egg implant in the lining of the uterus. I picked the later, as it seemed like it would explain how the ship managed to "fix" that problem so easily. I was looking for something else, but the series has been a little vague on this issue and it's obvious she was capable of getting pregnant so...yeah. Anywoo. Thanks for all the kind reviews and I'll see you guys later. Go visit my Stan fic. If you're desperate :) 


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